Kenneth Grange, 82, has designed some of the most familiar products and appliances used in our daily lives, from Kodak cameras to Kenwood food mixers, parking meters and bus shelters to London taxis. He began his career working as an architectural assistant at Arcon Architects before becoming a freelance designer and a founding partner of the design consultancy Pentagram. His work is currently on show as part of the V&A’s British Design 1948-2012 exhibition (vam.ac.uk). He lives in Devon with his wife, April.

Eye-opener I am a very early riser and getting worse all the time. It’s a bugger – sometimes I wake up at three or four o’clock in the morning, and I don’t know how to deal with it. I usually just get up and potter around. One of the great things about getting old is that you don’t have a conscience about sleeping during the day. I used to feel ashamed and guilty, but now it feels like a treat. I have an Eames chaise longue (pictured), which he designed for the cranky filmmaker Billy Wilder, and I’ll have a lie down on there when I feel whacked.

Teaching I am a visiting professor at the Royal College of Art, which I immensely enjoy, and the talent that is coming through that place is mind-boggling. It is different to my day because these students are daunted by nothing, and they know as much about production as design. In my day we relied on manufacturers to help us achieve what we wanted. I am at the Royal College about once a fortnight and it is a terrible display of my popularity. There is a piece of paper up on the door noting when I will be coming in, for people to sign up for a meeting with me, and I see that as a way to measure how much I am wanted in life.

Mother My mother worked at a factory that made springs until she was in her seventies. I think they just put up with her because she loved it so much. She got me a job there when I was a teenager. In the funny little house I lived in growing up in Willesden, instead of having a lamp next to the chair in the front room, like most people had, we had a great big spring that was barely liftable. It was her pride and joy. She was somebody completely in love with manufacturing and was an influence on me – her work ethic particularly. I can remember, even when she was in her eighties and I was already relatively successful in my trade, her first concern was always whether I had enough work. What mattered most to her is that I had a job.

Bookcase I designed a bookcase when my mum died in 1997. I was at the undertakers looking through a terrible green catalogue of coffins, all of which were awful and expensive, but we had to pick one. I knew she would have resented that pressure on the family, to see her off well. Sitting there, I thought to myself how ridiculous it is that I am spending my life haranguing people to live with well-designed things and when I go it could be in one of these dumb boxes. I thought, I will make my own! Mine one fits me like a glove and the lid is behind it – it’s just a matter of taking the bookshelves out, screwing the lid on and away we go. The only problem will be getting whoever is responsible to follow my instructions.

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InterCity 125 It was by accident that I came to design the shape of the InterCity 125 train, which is still on the railways today. In 1968 British Rail knew it needed a fast train and a man called James Cousins showed me a model of a train it was developing and asked me to decorate it. It was a nice little job, but while I was working on the livery designs I thought perhaps it could be a more interesting shape, too. I worked with an engineer at Imperial College, looking at the aerodynamics of trains and testing models in the wind tunnel there. Bit by bit we designed a new shape without British Rail knowing. When Cousins turned up at my studio and asked how the livery was going, I showed him this model of a train (pictured), and pictures illustrating that it was functionally sensible. He said, ‘OK, we’ll go with your shape.’

Overalls I had been trying for years to find the perfect overalls and the ones I have now (pictured) are exactly right. I first saw them when I was watching The Killing on television. In a particular episode, in a Danish home – my favourite setting – were two removal men wearing these overalls. It took some research, asking builders and workmen and so on, to find out where they came from, but eventually I found the answer: Engelbert Strauss.

Mad Men When I was watching Mad Men recently I was reminded of the first time I went to New York, in about 1963. I had designed a typewriter, which went into production under the brand Royal, a British firm that was bought by Americans. At a meeting with the manufacturers I had been making a nuisance of myself about some daft little detail that I didn’t think was right – the shape of the keys or something – and these people were being terribly polite, but in the end I lost my argument. Then we were striding down Madison Avenue to go to lunch and this ad guy who had been at the meeting, exactly like Don Draper, wearing a little narrow-brimmed hat, turned to me and said, in that Draper voice, ‘Ken, if you have to have it, learn to love it.’ There is a great truth in that.

Best present I have a terrific plane (pictured) that was given to me in the 1970s by a Japanese client. In my workshop I have lots of different planes, but this one is extremely valuable. The value is in that chunk of metal, which is tremendously strong with a tiny bit of flexibility, so when it is drawn the blade glides over the surface and takes into account tiny imperfections. It looks like nothing, but is a sophisticated thing.

Favourite tool These secateurs (pictured) were designed by a chap called Hulme Chadwick in the early 1950s for Wilkinson Sword. There was nothing at all like that on the marketplace at the time and since then almost all pruning sheers have followed his pattern. Chadwick originated something that is wholly ergonomic, entirely to do with comfort and function. All the wear you can see here is indicative of how well he did his job – the paint has worn away exactly where the hand moves when you use them. They are the most beautiful things, just like jewellery to me.

Designer conflict There is no doubt that domestic harmony is endangered by having a designer about. If you are good at your job you cannot avoid looking at everything and, given half a chance, affecting it. I even have an opinion about a tea towel – I just cannot help it.